


Stories to be Told

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5555330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Next time,” Porthos grits out, “let me take the hit, okay?” </p>
<p>“No,” Aramis says simply. </p>
<p>“Aramis—”</p>
<p>“No,” Aramis says again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stories to be Told

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a tumblr prompt for "Since Savoy Porthos wants to protect Aramis whatever it takes. But then Aramis (being Aramis) takes a bullet for him."

“You idiot.” He means to sound angry, frustrated, scolding – and all he feels is wrong, wrong, wrong. Off-center and incapable. The blood spills out over Aramis’ fingertips where he’s pressing it sharply against his bicep. 

“Maybe,” Aramis agrees, which is his way of saying that, yes, Porthos is right but, no, he’s not the least bit sorry. Maybe. Perhaps. Yes and no—

He hisses out sharply when Porthos presses his hand to the wound, tries to stabilize it enough to get a good look at it. It was a clean hit – the musket-ball tore straight through muscle and imbedded to the wall behind Aramis. It’s more a flesh wound than anything else, just catching at the edge of his shoulder. 

Porthos still feels unable to breathe, though. He’s trying to stop the bleeding and it’s more show than any real danger – Aramis looking at him, calm, his eyes bright only with something unspoken than any real pain. 

“I’ve had worse?” Aramis offers and Porthos hisses sharply through his teeth and ties the bandage off sharper than he’d intended. Aramis flinches. “Porthos…”

“I never told you to do this,” Porthos mutters. 

“If I hadn’t pushed you,” Aramis says calmly, uninjured arm moving to press his hand to Porthos’ heart, “you would have been hit right here.” 

Hand shaking, covered in blood, Porthos covers Aramis’ own. He’s silent for a moment, lips pressed into a thing, displeased line. He stares at Aramis, who smiles back at him as if he hadn’t just risked his life for him, after having gone through too much and so much in so short a time. 

It’s been this way for months – Porthos perhaps being slightly too quick to jump into the thick of battle and danger if it means shielding Aramis. He’s only just recently returned to active duty after everything that happened in Savoy. And maybe, in his heart, Porthos wanted—

Well. It hardly matters what Porthos wants. 

“Next time,” Porthos grits out, “let me take the hit, okay?” 

“No,” Aramis says simply. 

“Aramis—”

“No,” Aramis says again.

“It’s for your own good — I need you to be alright.”

“And what makes you think that I’d be alright if you died protecting me?” Aramis says, and there is a severity to his words, the sharp look in his eyes speaking to too many things neither of them have been ready to say yet.

He coaxes Porthos down to press their foreheads together. Porthos closes his eyes, forces himself to breathe around the hammering in his heart – his own quiet reassurances to himself that, no, Aramis is alive. Alive. Yes. Yes—

“It’s alright,” Aramis murmurs. “I protected you.” 

“Why can’t you let me protect you, too?” Porthos mutters. 

A hand touches at his cheek, ghosts over his skin – thumb hooking along the sharp line of his cheekbone. 

“Porthos,” Aramis says – and it says far more than anything else could, packed into the simple exhale of his name. 

Porthos could lean in and kiss him now, if he wanted. He thinks Aramis might let him. The air smells like his blood, though. And the moment passes as Porthos turns his head away and collects some fresh bandages. 

Aramis’ hand on his heart lingers, and then drops away.


End file.
